


All Your Fault

by orphan_account



Series: Smutty Adventures of Birb Mage and Nightlight [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Crack-fucking-ship, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Not sorry this was hilarious, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:44:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6281485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris unintentionally irritates himself to drinking in a bout of usual brooding, and Justice takes the brunt of a very drunk elf's antics. Anders' gets involved, and things get real hot in here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

> I was grumpy and tired today, so I decided "hey, let's write some important content and character development for Fenris and Justice for this series".
> 
> This was the absolute, complete, 300% opposite thing I meant to write.
> 
> Okay well, the character development was intended, bUT NOT LIKE THIS. NOT EVEN REMOTELY CLOSE.

Kirkwall, humid but comfortable in temperature in the wake of the heat wave that gripped the city for three long weeks felt anything _but_ comfortable in every other aspect. Templar's roamed with more frequency, Aveline and the rest of the city guard were continuously pushed under thumb by Meredith in attempt to gain complete control. Fenris noticed all the obvious changes, and all the subtle ones too. Saw how the templar's remained unchecked, saw the Grand Cleric of the Chantry do nothing. He tried to find faith if but for a purpose to fill the vacuum of empty aimlessness left behind with Danarius' death, but he could only listen to Sebastian and the other sisters and brothers for so long before their words became white noise. Nothing they preached was acted upon, not once since he met Hawke and his company.

The heat was gone, but the tension in the air was thick and cloying, and he wished instead he was being roasted in his leathers opposed to crushed under an invisible weight. It was, as usual, a day for hiding in his decrepit mansion in one of the cleaner rooms to practice his writing to pass the time till late evening when he felt most comfortable stalking the city.

Something advanced but familiar to him was what Fenris picked to practice and improve himself upon. He would often borrow books from Hawke to read or copy, but as of late he found himself gravitated to papers he had received from Sebastian; namely history on the Circle of Magi and Templar Order in hopes to understand the differences between Tevinter and the South on the organizations and their management. To put it simply, the differences were jarring, but somewhat similar in a mirrored manner. It was implied many times over mages were not property of the Chantry, nor slaves, but Fenris was becoming unconvinced. In the centuries since its creation, the texts remained the same while the system rotted from the inside out, and it was but a shell of it's original glory.

The Maker's bride would be appalled to see what became of her following were she to be alive today, and frankly, he was too. It was not a subject he and Anders spoke of outside their awkward band of misfits, ever. Not about the Circles, about templar's, about the Chantry. Fenris never made attempt to listen or read his manifesto, nor did he encourage or discorage the mage's activities; whatever they might be. The elf found a long-standing interest and desire in Anders the man, but only pursued because the blighted mage was as easy to read as a picture book when it came to his affections. It was a wonder why he never sought out Hawke, but then Fenris remembered Hawke had taken a liking to the witch early on before they really got to know each other.

Fenris played with the barbs of the feather quill in his hand, running slim sword-calloused fingertips down the length of the vane in quiet contemplation. His trysts with the healer had thus far been physical only, and he had full intention to keep it that way, but for all his intention those walls were beginning to crumble. Void, he was scrutinizing the Andrastian Chantry, and as much as he tried to deny it, much of his interest dissecting it was to better understand where Anders was coming from. The warrior huffed at his thoughts and capped the inkpot, leaving the partially-copied document on the desk forgotten and abandoned in favor of raiding his restocked cellar for something strong to chase the discomfort of the revelation from his mind.

A Ferelden whiskey, hardy and unforgiving as the people who brewed it made it into his hands, and in short time down his throat in burning sipping draws.

"These truths the Maker has revealed to me:  
As there is but one world,  
One life, one death, there is  
But one god, and He is our Maker.  
They are sinners, who have given their love  
To false gods."

Fenris professed, reading the lines off a scripture from the Canticle of Transfigurations from the Chant of Light, another piece he had requested from Sebastian early on when he heard stanza's of it being read off once while he prayed in the Chantry. It had been hours ago when he cracked open his bottle which he held in the same hand as the parchment, and only half-way in to the volatile drink he was already lost to its effects; a skull off one of the corpses in hand as his captive audience. Utterly deadpan, he stood straight with his chest out, and regarded dirty and dusty skull as if it would respond in turn, then began to flap its jaw to do just that.

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.  
Foul and corrupt are they  
Who have taken His gift  
And turned it against His children.  
They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.  
They shall find no rest in this world  
Or beyond."

He moved the thread-tied lopsided jaw up and down (after realizing once he had dislodged it, he couldn't fit it back together again), pretending the skull was reciting the next stanza, and melodramatically strutted around the house uncaring of his volume. The elf drank and pranced unabashedly in the privacy of his home switching between himself and the skull for who was to read to the other until he had gone through the entire Canticle, one bottle of whiskey, and half-way through another that was suddenly naught but a collection of dark glass shards and a sticky puddle of acrid smelling alcohol on broken tile floor. A complete accident in his fervor-- he had no intention of leaving the spirit unfinished.

It shouldn't of been a disappointment, after all he had a whole lot more where that came from in the cellar, but in his addled state it was entirely _unacceptable_. Armor-less, sword-less, the elf stormed skull still in hand out into the city which was now somewhere in the middle of the night and navigated the alleyways by memory - though not without a handful of difficulty that ended with a pick-purse with rearranged internal organs crumpled in a heap in one shoddy alley - to Darktown.

He didn't realize it, but Fenris should of counted himself fortunate he didn't encounter trouble in his current state as he shambled up to Anders' clinic and wretched the door open with a loud growl.

"You!" he snapped, pointing a finger at-- Justice? He didn't take the time to care past the realization his brands were humming pleasingly and Anders seemed to be aglow in blue light. "It's all your fault!"

Justice immediately went on the defensive, pulling away from his work on their manifesto at the desk he was sitting at to grab Anders' staff. " **You will come no closer, friend of Anders'** ," he warned low, a placating hand extended out towards the unarmed elf. The spirit knew well the warrior was more than capable without a weapon, and clearly inebriated. " **Anders and I have made no injustice towards you, elf. You will stand down and leave us be** ," he continued, unblinking solid white-blue eyes staring emotionlessly at Anders once-enemy.

"Injustice? You've done plenty that tonight you-- whatever you are!" Fenris snarled back. "Mage rights broke my fucking bottle! Just right up and out of my hands smashed it all over the Void-damned floor while I was still drinking the fucking thing!" Bristling with a scowl at Justice, he stuck his other hand out, the skull and dangling jaw staring the spirit square in the face. "You owe Bernard and I an apology and a new bottle immediately. If it wasn't for your constant shouting about all the plea of mages, I'd still be at my mansion drinking myself into a stupor as I was aiming for and not in the Maker-forsaken sewer shouting at Anders like this."

Justice tilted his head, humming questioningly, having no understanding of what the warrior was going on about. Clearly it was a personal issue, whatever the case. " **Mage rights remain non-existent in this world. They are oppressed for that which they are born as, and we will not si** \--." The spirit paused when the skull was thrust towards him, and though the elf was still several feet away, he summoned magic to his fingers defensively in uncertainty to its meaning.

When it was apparent the warrior was for the time being, still peaceful if loud, he relaxed slightly and regarded 'Bernard' with confusion, and focused again on the still-living man. " **You are inebriated and blaming something that does not have a physical presence in which to smash the bottle in your hands on the floor. I do not understand what you or Bernard seek to gain from Anders or I.** " Now the elf was just becoming even more of a bother they did not need. He put up with the other's presence with Anders because he was more productive in the long run when satisfied, but his host was still asleep and he did not need him disturbed like this.

Fenris huffed, staring flatly at the spirit, and flared his brands briefly. It had meant to make what his sluggish mind was recognizing as a spirit... demon... whatever it was compliant based off a far off inkling of a memory that Anders mentioned before he could feel when he activated the lyrium, but--. Justice and the warrior alike groaned in unison, and a warm heat bloomed in Fenris' body, and it seemed the spirit had a similar response by the way he bore a little of his weight on the staff.

" **Enough, leave us, elf** ," Justice warned again, though his voice lacked the usual stoic or passionate fervor it usually bore.

"My name is Fenris not _elf_ , you stupid spirit," Fenris bit back, grumbling as he scratched and crumpled the fabric over one of his upper thighs between his fingers. He really should, but common sense in his mind if any was left when he left the mansion was slipping out of his fingers like sand now. In grim curiosity, he flared his brands again for longer, and gave a lopsided smirk despite the fierce heat spreading through him as Justice faltered again. Crouching on the ground looking like a smug cat, he sat on the balls of his feet and palms, repeating the action just to watch the spirit squirm and drop to the ground with an odd sense of satisfaction that he had little idea what was happening to his host's body.

Justice tried to stay standing, but Fenris would not relent. The spirit had enough of an idea to the sensations skittering beneath his skin, the tingling along his spine and the heady disorientation of arousal. What little he obtained through Anders was nothing compared to enduring it uninhibited by his host's own will tapping him down, and much to his chagrin his body responded instinctively to the heat setting his nerves and blood afire. A low rumble reverberated in his chest, a hand tugging at the fabric of his pants over his groin to try and relieve the increasing discomfort there.

" **What are y** \--" Justice didn't want to harm Fenris, but when the elf was suddenly staring him down with a predatory smirk, the spirit let sparks crackle off his fingertips to ward off the man, if for only Anders' best interests of his physical wellbeing by this point. He couldn't say by this point whether or not he was averse to what he was formulating was the elven warrior's plot, not when his body sang as brightly as it did in the presence of so much lyrium. Lyrium he enjoyed the taste and hum of on his-- Anders' tongue, among other places.

Fenris backed off with a growl when Justice cast his magic, glowering at the spirit. "I do not desire to harm you or the mage," he clarified, straightening up so he was balancing on the balls of his feet. He strained terribly against his pants in this position, but that was but a background nuisance right now.

The crackle in the air stopped abruptly, and the glow from the spell winked out when Fenris stepped back, and Justice reached into Anders' mind to pull his host from sleep, filling his consciousness with memories recounting the bizarre encounter from when the elf barged in to present. He would do nothing with or for the warrior without Anders' knowledge.

Cracks receding to minimal as Justice lurked partially in the forefront of his host's consciousness, Anders' eyes faded to warm honey-brown, and his entire body slumped tiredly as he yawned loud, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What in the Void, Justice," he murmured, looking around the room. The images, thoughts, and responses the spirit had all felt filtered in-- flooded more like, and Anders couldn't help a loud moan and a buck of his hips in his unguarded state when the arousal Justice felt struck him. He realized why he was on the floor instead of his bed in the back of the clinic, why he was tenting hard in his sleepwear, and why there was a rather prickly looking elf staring at him flatly with half-blown pupils.

"Bring Justice back," Fenris ordered deadpan. "I was enjoying seeing him writhe."

"Maker, what-- what the fuck are you even--," Anders was cut off by another moan, laying flat on his back rolling his hips against air when Fenris activated his lyrium again, holding it steady this time. He never felt the markings remotely close to this particular scale when Fenris used them; it filled his mind and body with a feeling of renewed strength, they invigorated him. Apparently with Justice, it was far more than that, going straight into pure pleasure. "F-Fenris," Anders whined, though what he was asking or demanding, he wasn't sure.

At Anders' silent permission, Justice surfaced a little further until their minds were intermingling cohesively, reveling in the pleasant but intense heat. The spirit rumbled mostly non-committal, but admittedly found himself indulging in Anders' arousal, urging his host to seek out his pleasures. The mage whimpered and held his lower lip between his teeth, hands pulling his shirt up and out of the way, then snaking them down into his pants to withdraw himself from their confines.

Fenris swallowed thickly, the light of the brands fading when he stopped channeling as the exertion began to become noticeable. He flicked his gaze instinctively to the door when he saw what Anders was about to do, and in moments the door was safely shut and locked. For them to be elsewhere than the narrow bedroom in the back of the clinic wasn't new, nor was naked on the floor, but he had no intention of letting anyone waltz up and watch them, and no one needed to know their beloved healer was possessed.

If Anders realized that the door had still been ajar, he didn't seem to care or feel the need to acknowledge it by how he was already stroking himself with slick glides of his fist around his shaft, the other teasing his balls and his perineum below them. Never would he ever imagine himself in this sort of predicament, least of all remotely the details of tonight that led to said predicament he was in right now. Justice taking an interest in the lyrium over Fenris' body was nothing new, but he was bewildered by the sudden interest, or indifference perhaps was a better word, to actively engaging in physical endeavors beyond battle.

Fenris picked Bernard up and placed him aside on a cot to avoid tripping or stepping on the skull, and crouched down in front of Anders, staring at the mage with a carnal hunger uninhibited by alarm bells that should of and would of rung long ago at the very appearance of the spirit and the warning stance he had taken. "Mmh, giving me a show, are we?" he teased, voice rough and low. He gave Anders a smouldering look as he pulled his sleep pants to his ankles and then off entirely, leering as he began to shed his own clothes.

Anders could only offer a mewl in response, heels dragging back and forth against the floor as he aimed to work himself to completion, knowing he would have the energy for at least another round after. He never thought, but being watched with such intensity brought on a whole other level of desire, and the blond couldn't hold back a louder keen that was deepened into a rich baritone by Justice as he rubbed his fingertips firmly below the head on the underside of his cock, hips stuttering.

Shedding his pants and smalls, Fenris shimmied close, nestling himself between Anders' legs and stroked himself languidly, letting the precome beading at the tip lubricate his own erection. He tried to form words, but the sight of golden hair fanned out in a halo around the mage's head, the lean muscular build of his body shifting and flexing with every stroke, and the fractal glow of Justice willingly engaging in this left the elf breathless. His shock-white hair fell forwards over his eyes as he inclined his head, panting as he canted his hips forward, grunting as he thrust into his fist.

"F-Fen," Anders moaned wantonly, his pace quickening, having not the patience to drag his release out; and as it was, it didn't look like Fenris was either, nor was Justice as the spirit began to clamour in his mind to hear and feel the lyrium sing through their nerves and veins. "Justi-i-ce," he groaned out for clarification.

Fenris nodded hastily, breaths growing ragged as the pressure began to build in his groin. He activated the lyrium, and the effect was near-immediate. White-hot pleasure scorched his nerves like a flash fire, the tension uncoiling sharply when the energy of the lyrium met Justice's spirit energy, and he choked out a cry as he came over his hand and Anders. A loud _'hck!'_ and a broken gasping keen escaped the mage, his body shuddering as he writhed beneath Fenris, come painting his abdomen downwards and hands.

Neither knew how long they stayed there, Fenris hunched over holding himself up with hands pressed to the ground on either side of Anders' hips, the mage laying flat and momentarily sated. Justice hummed contently and sunk into his host's subconscious, a tendril of himself still near the forefront to keep careful watch on the elf in the off chance he was to rile up again and restart the mess that unintentionally led to this.

Wordlessly and delirious in bliss, Fenris pulled the near-dead weight that was his mage up into his arms, uncaring of the cool wet mess smearing across their stomachs, and carried the man to his bed where he brushed the dirt and debris off before setting him comfortably down. A quick wipe was all that was needed to clean up, and the warrior was already eagerly going in for round two.

A long wet lick with his tongue flat on Anders' shaft moved from base to tip, languid flexing stripes of the muscle laving over hot firm flesh making his mage squirm and breathe encouraging sounds of pleasure. Fenris pawed at one of the blond's hands, a nonverbal gesture they developed without thought for the transfer of slick from the man's magic between them, and he circled one finger around Anders' tight entrance before slipping in, piercing the tight passage only up to the first knuckle till he had the mage rocking against him. The elf grinned and swallowed Anders' length down, bobbing his head slowly and sucking it to the back of his throat before pulling up to lave the head and over the slit, tasting the salty musk of his mage with a hot groan.

The deft slender finger slid easily in and out of Anders, wrist twisting and the pad rubbing against the warm velvet walls. One became two that slowly stretched; Fenris taking his time opening the man up. He would change the pace of his mouth or fingers, or try a different set of motions to keep his mage on his toes, and the sudden catch in Anders' breath followed with shallow pants and pulsing of the rigid length in his mouth signaled his second release, the hot fluid spilling into Fenris' welcoming mouth that drank it down without complaint.

Fenris lifted up, a third finger now stretching Anders' wide to accommodate him comfortably, and he surged forward to capture the man's lips in a passionate, smouldering kiss that burned hot and low on their lips. A needy whine escaped them both, pliant hungry lips slanting and interlocking perfectly like puzzle pieces together, tongues sliding against each other into the other's mouths in a slow dance, tasting and breathing together in heady bliss. It was Anders that got Fenris' attention, reaching down without breaking the kiss to stroke the warrior's length, slicking it with magic that had him shiver with anticipation.

"Please," he breathed against Fenris' lips.

The elf nipped at his mage's lower lip in reply, grabbing one of the unused pillows to drag down to Anders' hips, long lean pale legs wrapping around his waist and lifting his hips up so the pillow could be slid into place. Positioning himself, he pressed forward against Anders and waited for a nod of approval before inching home, burying himself to the hilt, both of them groaning wantonly as hands and arms wrapped around the other. Anders kept his around Fenris' upper back, and Fenris went for the waist and hip, keeping his mage close and giving himself the extra force to thrust deep and hard.

The pace was languid and he pulled out almost completely before seamlessly rolling his weight forwards, connecting their hips together in repeated consistent motions. He built up slowly, hips canting forward and back, shifting the angle little by little until he was grinding against Anders' prostrate, causing sweet unabashed moans to fill his mouth, which Fenris devoured greedily in exchange for his own soft grunts and breathy moans.

It was slow and sweet, the elf's hand pushing down on his mage's waist changing location to wrap around the solid leaking cock between them, stroking Anders to a quiet third completion. Fenris picked up his pace just a little, riding his mage's release until he silently met his own, filling the man with his seed. Like a warm blanket, and with a literal plush but thankfully light in the summer night's heat, a sense of completeness draped over them as the elf rolled off and tugged the now-soiled pillowcase off after he pulled it out from beneath Anders to use for himself. Before the thought of cleaning up crossed either of their minds, the solid comfort of each other's bodies curling up together lulling them off to sleep.

It wasn't until the late afternoon the following day after Anders healed the crippling headache that Fenris noticed the human skull laying on one of the healer's cots, thread weaved through holes in the facial structure to keep the jaw attached, and stared at it in utter confusion, gesturing to it with an incredulous look towards the man.

Anders gave a partly amused, partly wistful laugh, unsure whether or not to fill in the warrior's memory of the night before, and simply shrugged at it. "His name's Bernard. He's quiet, cleans up after himself, and keeps me company."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the crack smut I threw in there, I am weirdly pleased by it *cackles* And *le gasp* possible beginnings of romance!?!? Who knows; Fenris can't even remember! Maybe that's a good thing, I don't think he'd ever want to recall what he's like on Ferelden whiskey _ever_.
> 
> Btw I don't know if Ferelden's make whiskey but I imagine they'd make some pretty beastly shit just like in them olden days huehuehue.
> 
> Comments/kudos encouraged as always :)


End file.
